Chess scowled. “I don’t know you, woman. Might be you sure as hell don’t know me.”
“Ah, but I do, little killer. I have seen you through your man’s eyes, and often. Your white man with a Book, cause of all this trouble, supposedly on your behalf. Because he could stand neither to lose you nor give up his magic, desiring to . . . what is your bilagaana phrase? ‘Have his cake, and eat it’?”
“What’s she talkin’ ’bout?” Chess demanded, of Yiska.
She shrugged. “It is an old idea — that two Hataalii who wish to live together may do so, but only at the cost of their power. Rook might have done it before you ever had cause to know what you were, let alone what you might have been. But because he would not brook becoming less, he made you more . . . too much for Balance, unBalancing everything.”
“Yeah, well — I never asked him to do any of that, Goddamnit. That was all his idea . . . his, and hers.”
“Yes,” Yiska agreed. “And she would have just done something else, the Lady of Snares and Traps, even had your Reverend refused her; this too is true, though my Grandmother is loath to admit it.” Her eyes turned to Songbird, afloat and silk-shrouded, shimmering sweet in all her white-on-red finery, and Chess watched in surprise as a mere sight of that sharp-tongued harridan made Yiska’s lips curve — let alone how Songbird’s eyes dropped to see it, blanched cheekbones pinkening.
“Besides which,” Yiska continued, softer, “I can sympathize with him, foolish though Asher Rook may have been, in the moment. I think we all can, being drawn most fiercely to our kind, like any other animal.”
“Not to mention how we now know things were gonna change, no matter who did what,” Yancey put in, drawing a nod from Missus Love.
“Missus Kloves has it a’right,” Sophy Love said, considering her boy, who was amusing himself by sucking on one paw and making dust-mites dance like fireflies ’round his own head, hexaciously lit up in a hundred different colours. “This vow of yours, Christian as it sounds in theory, was overturned long since by the Hex City Oath — and given what we achieved last night, Miss Yu and Gabriel stand living proof. No point in harrying Mister Pargeter over things he couldn’t’ve known or things Rook claims he did to benefit him, rather than pursuing charges ’gainst him for all the bad he’s done outright.”
Which put her on his side,
strangely enough, even after everything — or maybe not; hard to tell, even when they weren’t discussing stuff that’d probably happened while he was still pulling himself up through Hell’s asshole. The whole thing made Chess’s skull ache, notwithstanding, though that was good too, in a way: proved he still had one, at least.
“You ladies just go on an’ settle things amongst yourselves,” he heard himself say, shakily, once more fighting to keep upright. “Don’t . . . worry ’bout me. I’ll juss wait it . . . out . . .”
Then he plunged forward, this time into Grandma’s massive, lumpish arms, their sharp yet crumbly edges bruising him all over as she hoisted him. Telling him, inside his head: Hush, fool. Take some of my strength, while the dead-speaker does what she must, with White Shell Girl and the salt-man’s widow’s help.
Chess flopped in her grip like a fish, squirming ’til he fell back, betrayed by his own weakness — reduced to using harsh language, for lack of any better weapon. Aw, save your “fool” you damn squaw-monster, ’specially since you never do put yourself out to learn folks’ proper names, do ya? What is that, some sort’a Injun thing?
A curl of alien laughter licked through him, excoriating even as it soothed — part of the service, possibly, since he did almost immediately feel a touch better. You are a wonder, Grandma admitted, reluctantly, while she rifled his mind with equally impolite “fingers,” leaving nothing untouched. Insulted by everything, always ready to fight; you revel in it, a beast in constant heat. No wonder the Enemy chose your shape to make War in, after the Lady sent you sowing death-in-life all along the Crack’s length.
Hey now, bitch, keep outta there! That stuff’s private.
With a shoulder hitch, Grandma indicated the others, gathered back ’round that fire of theirs and raising a veritable storm of hexery as though they was spinning gold from straw in the old tale. Songbird and little Gabriel Love took centre place, with Yiska on one hand, Yancey the other, and everything going straight over into her like braided lightning. She was opening herself up, calling out to — Ed, he could only think, though he couldn’t catch the words ’emselves, and felt a quick, silly surge of jealousy at the way the very idea of seeing Morrow enfleshed was making her flush.
Resign yourself, red boy, for nothing can be hidden now, Grandma told him, not when you stand at the world’s very turning pivot, as we all do — but you in particular, you Trickster-spawned trickster, most unreliable Hataalii of all. We stand between things. One world ends, almost certainly; this does not mean another will — or must — begin. You have blundered through this world rutting and killing, living and dying — doing only as you pleased and never counting the cost, to anyone. But now Balance itself hangs in the balance, so you must put away childish things, forever. You must be what you claim you are — a man — and act it, before it grows too late to matter.
Something was gathering together while getting wider over there, even as they watched, bending the air like heat. Behind Yancey, or maybe in front of her — around her? Christ, but this shit was tricksy. His god-stints set aside, Chess truly didn’t ever expect to understand magic, no matter how long he lived to keep on using it.
Maybe it just ain’t in my nature, he thought, to which he “heard” Grandma snort.
And this is the worst of your folly, she replied. You have only to think on my granddaughter, to see. Two-spirited like you, a born child of Begochiddy — and like you, too, she craves to ride and kill, to go where her heart pleases to take her, to have her way. Yet still she does her duty, for she at least knows to reckon her actions’ cost to others. That you were raised without a tribe is a wound you did not ask to be given, but that you have never tried to heal that wound, or even wanted to try . . . this decision is yours to pay for or be repaid, in kind.
Let me ask you this, Red Hair. Do you think the gods love, simply because they make? Do you think they must love what they make?
Chess shook his head, muzzily; felt her stone chest rake the side of his face, those uneven lumps she was using for tits all but drawing blood. Not the gods I met. ’Sides which, love and me, we ain’t exactly on good terms. I don’t think nothin’ “has” to love nothin’, necessarily. And even if it does . . . that don’t mean it won’t hurt.
Hmmm. Then, uneducated though you may be, you are smarter than that bilagaana Reverend of yours, at least.
He ain’t my Reverend. Not anymore.
Yes, yes. Tell yourself that, if it helps.
Mutinous on his part, dismissive on hers — he felt like arguing it, but didn’t have the strength. So fucking tapped out, an empty keg stuffed with nothing but the all-sorts dregs of a thousand previous hoorahs and just about to crack, no matter how sharply he drew on Grandma’s bounty. Could feel how it was hurting her, too, but was frankly too exhausted to even enjoy it.
Is this it? he couldn’t help but wonder. This? Jesus. Stupid Goddamn way to die . . . again.
Here something popped far off in the distance, mirrored by an ordnance-like boom in the foreground that made dust spray up ’tween him and Grandma and all the rest, a gigantic huff, like the entire world’d gasped for breath. And when it cleared, there was Ed Morrow’s broad back with a darkie bluebelly and yet two more barefoot gals (hexes too, he could smell it on ’em) tight-arrayed all ’round, his long duster bloody and mud-smeared and tore down the back like ill-cut tails, so high you could see his suspenders.
By unintentional miracle, Ed himself had fetched up straight in front of Yancey, who was staring at him and grinning fit to bust, as though she’d gotten her Christmas present early. And Chess couldn’t help but think he must be grinning back, since the next thing both of ’em did was to grab the other tight and go for each other mouth-first, so well-timed it was like they’d decided on it together as the best of all possible courses of action.